


Just The Flu

by Baroness_Blixen



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Episode: s05e04 Detour, mulder is worried, scully is sick, that's the gist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 12:00:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19829776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baroness_Blixen/pseuds/Baroness_Blixen
Summary: When Scully doesn't want to work one Saturday, Mulder worries and shows up at her apartment.





	Just The Flu

**Author's Note:**

> “I think I’m going to puke…” & “You’re burning up.” - a “Detour” post-ep.

"I brought you a little something-something.“ Mulder stands in front of her door with a sheepish smile and a large bag in hand.

"Mulder,” she moans, her throat tickling with the exertion of having to make sounds. “You shouldn’t have.” Should she tell him now that she can’t keep anything down? That she just wants to lie in bed and sleep? Looking at him she knows it’s no use either way. She steps aside and Mulder strolls in as if this was a party. 

“No offense, Scully, but you look like shit.” He turns to her, trying to be adorable and amusing. Right now he is neither. “I brought chicken soup.”

“Hmm,” she hums, sitting back down on the couch. Every bone in her body hurts. Each and every one, she is sure of it. When the first symptoms appeared yesterday, she panicked. The soreness in her throat and the crippling exhaustion reminded her too much of Before. The cancer. Alarm bells went off in her head right away. It was back. There was no other explanation. Whenever Mulder was preoccupied, she dabbed at her runny nose. No blood. Yet. She left early, made an emergency appointment with her doctor, and expected the worst. 

It was always the worst.

“Dana,” he said and she could feel tears behind her eyeballs as she prayed silently, missing his soft, slightly amused expression completely. “It’s the flu.”

“I- the what?”

“The flu. I’m going to write you a prescription and you should stay home for a couple of days, but it’s just the flu.”

Just the flu.

Now, a mere 24 hours later, it’s still just the flu. But she is not feeling better. Mulder, as if feeling that something was wrong, called her over an hour ago asking if she was up for a little bit of work. When she said no, keeping her sniffles to herself, he immediately got worried. Only Mulder would find it strange that someone would want to spend their weekend relaxing and not working.

No matter what she said, no matter how vigorously she tried to convince him that she was fine, Mulder was adamant to come over. 

“Chicken soup?” he asks now, holding a Styrofoam bowl in front of her. The rich, greasy smell makes her stomach complain.

“I think I’m going to puke…” Scully isn’t fast. The way to the bathroom seems endlessly long and she curses the outline of her apartment. She makes it just in time, her knees knocking against the tiles. When she’s done, her stomach and back in pain, she notices Mulder by her side. She has no idea how long he’s been there. The affronting soup is no longer in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” Mulder says, stroking her back. For the first time in over a day, something feels nice. She puts her head on the toilet seat, too exhausted to even care. “Why didn’t you tell me how bad it was?”

“Would that have made you stay home?”

“No.”

“There’s your answer." 

"Scully, you’re burning up.” His voice is laced with anxious concern. That’s why she didn’t want him to come over. He’s a big ball of energy and worry. “You need to see a doctor.”

"Saw one yesterday.”

“You did?” She can’t help but hear the pain in his voice. He’s hurt that she didn’t tell him. She shudders, thinking of it again. Going to the doctor’s, staying in her car for a moment longer than necessary, not sure if she was able to take the diagnosis again. Why would she put him through that, too? “What did the doctor say? Scully?”

“That nice trips to the forest are canceled for the foreseeable future.” Mulder’s face falls. Her joke has not landed. At all. She touches his cheek. He’s ice cold. Or she’s burning up. “I have the flu,” she clarifies. 

“Oh,” he says, his voice barely there. “Just- it’s really just the flu?”

Scully nods. “We’re sure. Just the flu. No need to worry.”

“I’d worry even if you just had the sniffles. It was the trip to Florida that… Scully, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, Mulder. Help me up?” She holds up her hand and feels like a child. Mulder lifts her and puts his arms around her waist. She is not sure she’s still standing on her own two feet and giggles. 

“Why is this funny?” he asks her while making baby steps towards the sink. With one arm still around her, he expertly squeezes toothpaste on her toothbrush and hands it to her.

“You’re gonna get the flu too,” she says, staring at him in the mirror. His eyes are all wonky. Still, he is handsome, she thinks, even if his face is all mirror-inverted. “We should have stayed at the hotel, should have had cheese and wine.” She is not thinking clearly and yet, she can’t stop herself. Mulder is quiet next to her as she spits out the toothpaste.

“We should have,” he finally says, his eyes on hers in the mirror. “We really should have. That’s my biggest regret.”


End file.
